The Last Day

Everyone Eats Well at the Farmers Market

Some Days We Climb Things

My friend Hayden has introduced to a pretty sweet wall. This 50 foot beast, on the grounds of James Island County Park, has provided some fun times. I was a little hesitant to ride out there with him to check it out. Nothing about climbing has ever interested me. I've met a few people down here who are obsessive about this wall and I'm a little disappointed in myself for not giving it a chance years ago. After our first trip I was hooked. I've enjoyed not only the physical challenges it presents but also the mental. It's like figuring out a puzzle. Each individual may conquer certain routes in a manner they choose by using different techniques. The satisfaction once you reach the top is also a nice feeling. Not to mention the little rush when dangling five stories in the air. Hopefully I am able to continue this new found sport and some day challenge some of nature's rocks.     

Happy 4th of July!

Here lies Ben

  This may not look like much to the novice eye, but four feet below this patch of dirt rests the neighborhood vagabond, Ben. That's right.. I'm damn near a professional. It seems about once a year I get the opportunity to dig a grave for some type of animal I really didn't enjoy that much.

  Timing bears a hold on everything in life and this just wasn't my day. After a morning of fun on Folly I was out my door and in search of beer to continue the nice buzz I had already built. Nothing could stop me.. except the neighbor lady crying on her doorstep. Mattie is an interesting person. She is super kind but also a little cray cray. Each encounter with her is always an experience. Let's just say you have to be in the mood to say "hi" to this lady. On this day conversation was unavoidable. I went left instead of right and there she was, bloody hands clutching a grocery bag. All she could muster was "Bennnnn". Ben apparently belonged to her. I just knew him as the asshole who's paw prints looked like they are permanently a part of my trucks paint job and loves to leave butt biscuits in our driveway. I hated Ben. This could have been an "Oh, I'm sorry to hear" and haul tail kind of thing, except for the wrinkled old man, in a wife beater, scooping dirt in my peripheral. It was 100 degrees out and this dude was getting nowhere quick. An infant using beach toys could have dug a faster hole. I tagged in and he coached. Fifteen minutes and a liter of body fluids later Ben's final resting place was meticulously prepared. While I dug, what seemed like a parade of animals, led by Grand Marshal Mattie, flowed out of her front door to the bag Ben's lifeless body was decaying in. Upon arrival to Ben she made sure to stuff each of her pet's noses inside the bag and warned them if they are to play in the street they too will get thumped by a car and die. It was an odd sight.

  The three of us now stood over Ben and his sturdy plastic coffin that will take 500 years to decompose. We all bowed our heads while Mattie said some nice words about Ben. I let her drop the first scoop of dirt on him and then finished up. She thanked me for my help and offered a ginger ale... I'd rather have a beer.